


Unplanned

by mercurybard



Series: Duncan's Recruits [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abortion, Gen, Homesickness, Multiple Origins, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teryn's daughter is always careful, but there was betrayal and darkspawn and then more betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unplanned

Their camp was in the woods near where Lothering once stood. Far enough off the main path of the horde, but still close enough to the highways. It was nestled in the curve of some small hills and had large boulders, left behind by the retreat of ancient glaciers, along the perimeter. It was onto one of these Fedelm climbed, holding the flask Morrigan had prepared for her carefully. The liquid was a dark brown, the color of old, dried blood. She just sat for a minute, listening to the distant sounds from the camp—her Mabari hound barking, Alistair and Shivra shouting at one another, Leliana singing. Strange, how quickly those noises had become comfortingly familiar. 

There was an ache in her that had nothing to do with the strain of dozens of skirmishes and small battles. She missed home, she allowed herself to think, she missed home and Mother and Father and Fergus. In a way, the child that had taken root within her was the only piece of home she still had. The armor and weapons she’d had with her the night she fled Arl Howe’s men had long ago been discarded for better. Even her hair was no longer the same—she had allowed Wynne to cut it off at the shoulder to make it easier to fit under a helm. Her hair had never been cut before—just a trim now and then to maintain it—and her head felt strangely light. She had burned the discarded braids in the fire, leaving nothing for an enemy mage to find and work foul magicks with.

The shouting stopped—the shouters had probably worked themselves into such froths that they were no longer coherent enough for screaming—and the clanking of crossed weapons could be heard. Marai and Zevran were sparring, shadows moving back and forth in front of the fire. The small dwarf woman laughed as she fought, and Zevran never stopped talking. From this distance, the words were indistinct, but his tone was teasing.

A rustling in the grass drew Fedelm’s attention to the base of the rock. Shivra stood there—she must have approached silently and only made the noise to draw Fedelm’s attention. Once she knew Fedelm was looking, she clambered nimbly up beside her. “Morrigan told me,” the elf woman said bluntly.

That was…unexpected. Fedelm wouldn’t have thought Shivra would care one way or the other. She kept herself so distant from the rest of her fellow Wardens, actually interacting mostly with Alistair, though their conversations usually deteriorated into bare-faced insults and not-so-subtle digs at one another. Half the time, Fedelm suspected it was pigtail pulling. “A month ago, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about drinking this,” she said, swirling the liquid around inside the flask. “I’ve done it before.”

“Show me a woman who hasn’t, and I’ll show you a cloistered sister.”

“And I’ve got even more reason than usual to. It’s wearing me out faster, making me slower in a fight because I’m nauseous…I’ll probably lose it anyway.”

Shivra studied her from under her fringe of straw-pale hair. “You sound like you want someone to talk you out of it.”

“Out of keeping it or out of taking this foul concoction?”

The elf just shrugged and lowered her eyes to her own folded legs. Her dainty fingers began picking at a loose thread on the hem of her trousers. “You were one of the late arrivals—pretty sure Duncan didn’t get the chance to give you the whole awkward spiel about what being a Warden means physically.”

“Alistair filled me in on the shortened lifespan and the nightmares.”

“Pretty sure he didn’t tell you it will be almost impossible for us to conceive because of the darkspawn taint. He’d probably start blushing too hard to talk if he tried.”

He would too. Luckily, Fedelm found his…inexperience in certain matters adorable. “No, that hasn’t come up.”

“When Duncan recruited me…” Shivra raised her head, staring off towards the camp. “He thought I might have been raped. Nobody had touched me, but the other girls I was with weren’t so lucky. Anyway, he told me that he could understand me wanting to abort any rape-get, but any child I might be carrying—if it survived the Joining—would probably be the last one I’d have." She was quiet for a moment. Maybe mulling over possibilities lost, or maybe giving time to allow her words to sink in. "Just thought you’d want all the facts.” 

Her piece said, Shivra slid down off the rock and disappeared silently into the shadows.

Fedelm stared down at the potion still held loosely between her fingers. It had long since cooled and was starting to congeal at the bottom of the flask. The smell was getting worse too…either that, or her nausea was returning. Why could nothing be easy? The girl she had been—the obstinate youngest child of the teryn of Highever—couldn’t afford an illegitimate child. Her marriage prospects were too good to be tampered with like that. Fedelm had been extremely vocal about her intention never to marry when she was younger, especially not for political reasons, but the memory of her mother standing with sword drawn between her father and Rendon Howe’s men made her wonder if perhaps her childish thoughts of marriage needed to be revisited.

With a sigh, she pitched the flask into the bushes. This time, she would let fate take its course. Between the Blight and the civil war, they would probably all be dead before year’s end anyway.


End file.
